Cross Stitched
by tykiki
Summary: Katniss/Peeta switchfic and mixed up a little bit with some slight changes to situations. K/P pairing. Switches POV
1. Chapter 1

Alright, guys… drew my inspiration together to form some coherent sentences, and this is the nonsense you received. :)

Some of this wonderful inspiration has come from who you may know I beta for, DeathCabForBritney (if you don't, check her out, she's incredible.)

Other parts come from way too much time with my own brain. Wanna trade for a little while?

Anyone?

No…?

Okay, well, here is the first of hopefully a decent-sized story.

**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am affiliated with any of the Hunger Games—character, or real life. I do not own the plot of the Hunger Games trilogy, merely my own twists to it. I do not know Suzanne Collins. I only wish.**

Katniss Mellark

_May the odds be ever in your favor…_

_Ladies first!_

_Katniss Mellark…_

_My feet tangle together. I trip up the stairs, in front of the entirety of Panem. And the problem with that, is from here out, I am the perfect fresh meat to be slaughtered so intensely…_

_Panem would never forget my death, thanks to those who chose to do so…_

I'm up before my brothers. That's pretty typical for me today, mostly because I'm scared. They're probably awake too, in their own rooms, in their own worlds. But I can't hide in my room like they can, unfortunately.

Already, I'm craving human interaction, negative or not. Normally, she really isn't that bad today. It'd scare away more customers than normal because everyone is skittish, really.

I braid and unbraid my hair a few times before deciding to chance it and padding down the stairs as quietly as possible. That way, if I hear her being extra grouchy this morning, I can escape back to my room unscathed.

There are almost no sounds throughout the house, and I wonder if she's even up when I see him, and his glance flickers in my direction. Hunter's eyes, I'm sure.

He is giving my father two squirrels in exchange for bread. I see Father give him an extra piece of bread, and just know that Father is being generous today. If Mother had caught him, we all never would hear the end of it.

The boy knows that my family owns the bakery in town. He knows me from school. He knows that I hang out with a lot of people at school.

He doesn't know that I hang out with a lot of people at school because I feel incapable of being by myself for an extended period of time. I've been around so many people since I was born, that I wouldn't know how to do what I know he does.

Out hunting in the woods, with his dark-haired friend until they know that they can't get any more game for the day.

Sometimes, it's late when he stops by… but I don't mind, and continue to look forward to the brief moments I see him.

His coloring and build are wrong to be from the Seam. Everyone says he takes after his mother that way; a merchant's daughter stole by a Seam man who could make the birds stop to listen…

He has the same voice as his father. Melodic, wonderful baritone with a clear intonation that makes all the girls swoon.

With Gale, his hunting friend, they could bring the woods that are forbidden around this area to life with the echoing of the mountain melodies they both grew up with, baritone and bass against the altos of the forest and town.

Slowly, I work my hair into braids that trail all over the back of my head, wishing again that my bangs were long enough to tuck behind my ear.

I am the opposite of him.

A town girl, with Seam coloring. Everyone was sure my mother had been unfaithful to my father because of the olive skin, dark hair, and grey eyes I bear.

She's downstairs, too. But she is in oddly good spirits as this is the last year for all three of us kids to be in the Reaping simultaneously. Now there will be just Barmbrack and I. Then, just me for a year.

There is a blue dress waiting for me on my bed, and I scrub myself as clean as I possibly can. I'm not as dirty as some of the people who live here, but I'm trying to make sure that I look okay.

Wouldn't want the cameras in District Twelve to actually portray how we _really_ look. This is supposed to be a celebration, of course!

I roll my eyes at my own thoughts, and sigh at myself in the small mirror we have before I hear the call she does every year.

"Lady and gentlemen! We need to get a move on! Don't want to be late for you to not be Reaped!"

I'm in the block right now, fidgeting. Waiting for my turn to sign in at the Reaping. My mother would be furious to see me pulling at the sides of this dress, but since I'm waiting to be lined up with others for slaughter, I think I can afford her to be angry later.

The worst she'll do—if she notices—is slap me a couple of times. I understand, though. Clothing like this is very expensive, and she wants to get the most possible wear out of it.

With the sun beating down on us, I begin looking around at the girls around me. All sixteen, all scared half to death.

The other second half of being scared to death won't come but to one girl. Somewhere in the ages of twelve, and eighteen.

I take a deep breath, and spot Gale Hawthorne out of the corner of my eye. I know his family is large, and he most likely had to sign up for tesserae for all of his younger siblings.

While we didn't have much, we were certainly better fed than that family. Peeta Everdeen is right there with him, and I feel my cheeks light up like he may have seen me looking at him. Gale says something to him, and he smiles tightly.

I know he is worried that Gale may get drawn this year.

Gale being drawn at the Reaping means half as much game, and no doubt they will have told each other they will take care of the other's family while the other is away… which means six more mouths to feed, on top of his little sister and mother.

My eyes search frantically in front of me as I think of his little sister, and I find her.

Her shirt tail is sticking out a little bit in the back, and she looks like she hasn't slept in days. I press my lips together, chewing on the inside of the bottom one.

I wonder what would have happened if I had thought about getting tesserae for them, too. Put my own name for the Hawthornes and the Everdeens, to help them out.

I think back to a day a few years ago, with Peeta Everdeen under the tree by the back of the bakery, trying to scrape anything together for food. He was starving, and if he was starving, so was his mother and sister.

My mother went out and barked at him, and I saw the whole thing from the window.

He stumbled away, cloth of some sort in hand, trying to get off the property before she did something drastic, stupid, or both. She's known for being a certain amount of cruel…

But really, it's to keep us humble and remind us that we are no better than anyone else in District Twelve. We are the bakers that keep everyone else fed… at a price for them to keep us fed.

She's constantly reminding us that we are interdependent. Stealing—even out of our garbage—throws that whole scheme of things off.

That's not how _my_ mind works, though. My mind operates under the setting of "If it can be fixed, and you can fix it, do so."

So, when she came back in, grumbling about him fishing in our completely empty trash, I let her have it. Not the way it sounds—I did it nearly silently.

There were two loaves of bread finishing baking over the fire, filling the air with an aroma that only could be described as "heavenly." They were going to be wonderful, and we could sell them for an aching price because they also had raisins in them.

The time was up for their stay in the heat, however… so when I went over to take them out, all I could think about was Peeta.

Peeta, pronounced like _pita_, a type of bread… And how easily I could help his family.

My hand slipped.

The bread fell, in its already perfectly baked glory, straight toward the flames. As it sank, my mother shrieked in horror and anger, and grabbed the tongs and threw them at me.

I picked the bread up out of the fire, careful not to burn myself.

"_Stupid girl!"_ she screeched as her hand left a burning slap across my cheek. _"Do you have any idea how much money you just cost us! Where is your father going to find _raisins_ again? Incompetent fool! Go and give that to the pigs! Then come back in here, for your rightful spanking!"_

_Beating_ was more like it. I sighed, and went outside.

It was a torrential downpour, to say the least. He was under the old willow tree, probably trying to think of where else to go, when the bread hits the ground by his feet.

He looked up, squinting at me, and we stared at each other for a moment before I went back inside. I knew that no matter how badly she beat me; there was nothing that could take that moment—where I could really _help_ someone, and _did_.

It was then, that I realized that I love him and really could never truly love anyone more than him. I risked my own health and well being to save someone that had really never looked at me before.

Every now and then I would catch his glance at school, really hoping he would pull me aside to say something, but he never did. I think about it very rarely anymore, but at first it kind of upset me. Then I realized he was trying to do me a favor.

The problem with trying to do a stubborn girl a favor like that is exactly this: she's stubborn.

I am a stubborn girl, and his favor was received more of ignoring me. It hurt, but I got over it mostly.

Only mostly because I still have this feeling that if I just talked to him, he may see me differently than the girl who threw bread at him once when he didn't have any food.

It's replaying in my mind. Different versions though, when I walk down to him and give him the bread. One where I invite him inside and my mother is not there at all.

Truthfully, I have been fantasizing about a day I may talk to him since before I can remember.

I look around, unaware of the time.

Nearly everyone is checked in and here by now, but really everything is just a giant mess.

Girls are where they're not supposed to be, and so are guys. Pushing back around and trying to figure out who stands where… it always takes _way_ too long for the Peacekeepers to figure out how to organize us. They don't normally have to, because we're intelligent and know the rules.

We know the rules so well, that we know exactly which ones break and which ones bend… and which ones you should leave alone.

Darius, the lead Peacekeeper of District Twelve, clears his throat and hollers out for everyone to freeze so he can get us actually assembled before the people from the Capitol show up.

We do as directed, and are in neat little lines. I spot Primrose Everdeen up front, the tail of her shirt still hanging out.

I see Peeta across the yard. He looks back at Gale, who nods knowingly. Everything is relatively silent. Here in District Twelve, this Reaping is exactly what it was intended to be in the first place. Frightening and dreadful.

I hear at the Capitol, the people love this part of the whole excursion.

First meeting two young people from all twelve districts, making them glamorous… but really, it's just a pretty ribbon to tie around what everyone here is feeling so nauseous for.

The Hunger Games.

Designed by the government, the Hunger Games is a televised fight to the death between twenty-four people between the ages of twelve and eighteen. Two people are selected out of slips of paper that are mixed around. One boy, one girl from each district.

We've been standing here for what feels like hours, when the train finally arrives.

It's sleek, silver, and completely out of place in our meager town.

But even the train is more in place here, than the object that steps out of it.

Pink, from head to toe. Different shades of pink, but all of them brilliant.

_Clack! Clack! Clack!... Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack!_

It's Effie Trinket, the Capitol escort for District Twelve.

She looks completely ridiculous, and I'm not paying attention as she talks about what an honor it is to be returning this year. Everyone knows she's just sucking up to the Capitol in the hopes of not getting stuck with District Twelve _again_ next year.

And as always, they'll ignore her and she'll be back, just as annoying. Just hopefully not as… pink.

I'm so distracted by the craziness of her entire get up that I have completely missed the usual video played every year about how the Hunger Games came to be. About how our country rose up against "the government that fed them, clothed them, protected them."

The Capitol always seemed grotesquely exaggerative of the nature of the crimes that we as a people supposedly committed.

Letting us starve because of something people did seventy-four years ago seems rather moot to me. None of us remember it, because no one gets to be that age around here.

Well, except for Greasy Sae, the woman who runs a food booth at the illegal trading center. It's affectionately referred to as the Hob.

From what I overheard Gale saying in school, Peeta and he go there on a regular basis.

Enter: Haymitch Abernathy.

Drunken bastard.

The only living Victor of District Twelve, and a complete buffoon. He stumbles onto the stage, drunk out of his mind… and tries to hug Effie. He knocks her wig sideways, and attempts to walk back to take a seat next to the mayor, but trips headfirst off of the stage.

"Happy Hunger Games! And may the odds be ever in your favor," Effie sings out over the ruckus Haymitch and the Peacekeepers trying to help him have created.

I glance at Primrose Everdeen, and back at Peeta again to see their reactions. Prim just looks sick to her stomach, and I wish there was something I could do about it.

Peeta is rolling his eyes, and muttering under his breath.

I turn my head back to the stage, nervous for this to just get a move on. There are so many things going through my head right now that I just want to scream and run away.

"Ladies first," chimes Effie Trinket, just in time to catch my attention again.

I am whimpering inwardly as I watch her hand dive into the bowl and pull out a slip. Only four of those slips have _Katniss Mellark_ written neatly on them. Only four, in hundreds.

She clack-clacks her way back over to the microphone, smoothing to slip between her polished hands.

"Primrose Everdeen!"

I feel a shudder go through my entire body, and my eyes shoot straight to Peeta. A murmur goes through the crowd as it does every year someone younger than fifteen is chosen as tribute. Here in District Twelve, that's not very often.

Too many people need the tessarae for them to really choose the twelve year olds.

I think about Gale's family, and look to Peeta.

His eyes are giant, and he looks like he's going to hyperventilate.

Oh.

He _is_ hyperventilating. Gale has stepped forward from his spot in the crowd, earning dirty looks from some Peacekeepers by breaking ranks.

"Prim!" He yells, stepping into the portion of the block that is almost completely cleared, as Prim looks like she is going to cry and vomit at the same time.

I think about what I would do in his situation, but being the youngest, I can't really understand what is going on in his head right now.

"_Prim!_ No!" Gale has stepped forward, an arm around Peeta's chest as he almost rips through the crowd of Peacekeepers that have blocked us off from the stage.

My heart breaks, and everyone has turned to look at Gale and Peeta. He is a hysterical mess.

Next, I think about what I could do to remedy the situation now. What I can do, to take the pressure off of Peeta's shoulders, because this is his family and he loves that little girl more than words could ever begin to express.

So I push past the other girls.

"I volunteer!" I shout. "I volunteer, as tribute!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own, nor am affiliated with any of the Hunger Games—character, or real life. I do not own the plot of the Hunger Games trilogy, merely my own twists to it. I do not know Suzanne Collins. I only wish.**

**A/N: I do want to make it known that I am a Peeta-Katniss shipper. It looked like there may be some questions in the reviews as to whether this was going to be K&P or K&G (despite the statement in the description). I'm also really sorry it's been so long in between updates. I got a promotion at my job, got married, and had to sleep in there somewhere… **

**A/N: Also, I wanted to make it clear that I will be using both movie and book lines and references. There are some small things I love about the movie, and some things the movie didn't have. Obviously.**

''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

Gale Hawthorne

I'm in shock, and awe.

Mostly awe.

The baker's daughter is standing in the middle of the square, having just shouted that she volunteered for my hunting partner's little sister.

Volunteered to take her place in a fight to the death between 24 teenagers from different parts of society, kept apart due to the government that claims it is for our well-being and safety.

She doesn't know that merely hours ago, I was complaining about how there are no decent people left, really, and how it's ridiculous to even hope for a rising. How Peeta and I could live off the land in the woods, if not for our families. We could become a regular couple of hermits, he and I.

We're nearly close enough as it is.

I let go of his shoulder with one hand, looking at his face. His cheeks are tear streaked, and he is staring at the baker's daughter, too.

Her eyes flit to us, and she looks down immediately.

The Peacekeepers move Primrose Everdeen back to where Peeta and I stand, and she clutches Peeta. I don't blame her.

"A volunteer," Effie Trinket coos, with her powdered wig off balance due to Haymitch Abernathy's drunken topple a moment ago.

It's amazing, how minutes can flee so quickly.

Less than three hours ago, I was telling Peeta this whole thing was absolutely ridiculous, and wondering aloud what would happen if everyone in the nation stopped watching one year.

"_They won't."_

"_What if they did?"_

"_They won't, though."_

"_They wouldn't have a game anymore. It's sick. You root for your favorites, cry when they die."_

There hasn't been a volunteer for another in District Twelve for decades. Here, being in the Hunger Games is synonymous with being a corpse. A murmur has gone through the crowd, shocked at what just happened between two people that do not know each other.

They know _of_ each other. But they've never interacted, that I've seen. I know Peeta drops squirrels at their home, because he can exchange them for breads—hot, and sometimes completely fresh. That's a real treat.

I'm watching the Peacekeepers attach themselves to Katniss Mellark's arms and surround her to move her to the stage.

"What is your name, dear?" Effie Trinket asks her when she's reached the area Effie stands at. Katniss looks both scared and numb. They look absolutely ridiculous next to each other—Effie in her pink wig, looking completely from the Capitol with their insane fashion; and Katniss next to her, wincing, wearing a nice dress with her hair pulled up… one of them looks out of place, but because of all the lights and cameras, it looks like Katniss is the one underdressed.

"Katniss," she says. "Katniss Mellark."

Effie chews this over for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next.

"I take it that may be your sister?"

Katniss looks at Effie, suddenly realizing where she is again, that this is not a dream as she may have thought it.

"No. A friend's."

I am frozen in place, my grip on Peeta so tight I'm sure it's hurting.

He isn't struggling against me any longer, and the grip my other hand has on the back of his shirt is not strained. He is as surprised as I am and his eyes are glued to her.

There is no statistical reason that Prim's name should have been drawn. She has never had reason to draw tesserae, because Peeta and I have made it so. She has always been completely safe, and this is her first year with her name in the draw.

One slip, out of hundreds. How is it possible?

Furthermore, how is it possible that of all the people we know, trade with, respect, and help… that Katniss Mellark would be the one to volunteer in her place, suddenly… without any prior knowledge of the person she was volunteering for?

It's known that other persons, such as siblings, may take the place of younger ones in the hope that they would survive perfectly fine… but this was completely different. Completely.

Really, it started with my mother—Hazelle—off to the side. She presses her three middle fingers of her left hand to her lips, and lifts her hand to the sky.

It's a sign, in District Twelve.

It means admiration, thank-you, and good-bye. Peeta's the last to do it, and her eyes are locked on him before Effie says in her annoyingly cheery voice "Now for the boys!"

Her shoes clack to the other side of the stage, the other bowl. She reaches in deeply, and pulls out one slip.

_Not me,_ I beg silently. _Not me. Not me. Please, not me._

I have four people to take care of in my family. This is the last year I have to worry. I just have to make it past this, and I am set as a coal miner for life.

The feelings of fear and pity rush through me so quickly, I fear I will be ill.

Effie takes her time walking back, for dramatic effect. Really, there's no need for dramatic effect at this point. Katniss Mellark provided all of the dramatic effect that the Hunger Games host Caesar Flickerman will need until the actual slaughter begins.

She smoothes the strip out, and nods at the name before nearly pressing her lips on the microphone.

"Gale Hawthorne," she says clearly.

I take a deep breath, and look at Peeta. His eyes are wide and glassy again, and I know that no matter what happens here, he will take care of my family. It's an agreement we've had for years—since the first time I saw him hunting on his own, and we decided neither of us were stealing from each other.

I trudge to the front. The Peacekeepers are around me as well, and I look back to find my mother. She is standing strongly, shaking slightly, her nose beginning to turn red from the strain of not crying.

My feet carry me to the top of the stage, and I stare at Katniss for a moment. We look like we could be related. She has the coloring of a Seam girl—olive skin, dark hair, grey eyes.

"Well, go on, shake hands," Effie Trinket urges. I both despise Effie, and applaud her efforts to keep things as normal as possible during this Reaping.

I know that this is a huge change of pace for her, and everyone else thinks she will probably be moved to escort a more exciting district next year.

Katniss Mellark's hand is warm, and her shake is firm. She is a fighter and will be known as such. I nearly smile at what this simple action told me of her.

We are escorted toward the building, and then I hear it let loose: a bone-chilling, screaming howl of pain that makes me start to turn back until I realize who it is.

My mother.

"You have three minutes," the Peackekeeper states as he lets my mother and siblings in to see me.

Three minutes hardly seems like a long enough time to say good-bye to each family member properly. Three years would not be enough time, and I smile down at my brother Rory, who is the next of eldest to me.

"Peeta will bring you game. You will all be fine," I say to them, forcing a smile. "Do not take the tessarae from them—it isn't worth it. The Everdeen family will help out as much as they can. Prim can sell cheese from her goat. Peeta and I already have everything figured out…"

I trail off at the look on my mother's face. It's the look I remember being on her face at my father's funeral.

"Try to win," Vick pipes up. Posy gurgles from my mother's hip, and Rory nods.

"Win, and come back home," Rory agrees. Mom says nothing, just stares at me like she is memorizing my features. Like I'm not coming back.

"I will," I say. Just to prove her wrong. Just to prove that she doesn't need to worry about me not being there for her and my brothers and sister. Then, it dawns on me: I am entering a death match, with a vow to attempt to actually win this thing.

"I do know what I'm doing," I say. Rory nods, understanding. He would be the only one to know what I meant.

"Time's up," the Peacekeeper says, yanking the door open and pulling my family out.

"I'll be back!" I try to be earnest, but the door closes in my face.

I turn back to the window I was looking out before their arrival.

The door bursts open again. This time, it's Peeta.

"You can do this. You can hunt. Show them how good you are with snares. Show them all what a trap you can set. Come back."

He grips my shoulder, and I meet his steely gaze.

"I won't let them starve," he states. I nod.

"Thank you." We don't need to say anything further, and he leaves, the door shutting behind him tightly.

I silently wonder if Peeta went to go see Katniss. Mostly because I don't know what he would say to her.

"_Thanks for volunteering for my sister, even though we don't really know each other!"_

It seems like he should see her, but I just can't bring myself to figure out why.

_I won't let them starve._

The promise echoes through me, and I don't know whether to be scared for Peeta or scared for me.

So many mouths to feed in that… I snort.

How many times had Peeta and I gone hungry so the rest of our families didn't have to? How many times had he and I vowed that we would always help one another? How many times did this scenario enter our minds—and out of that, how much did we think this situation was actually possible?

So many names, so many papers, and Prim's name was drawn.

Mine was less of a surprise to both of us. 42 times, my name was in the bowl. But yet the actuality of my being Reaped was eluding me.

I'm not nervous for the fight to the death. I'm nervous for the fact that Peeta is a strong hunter… but it always took both of us to feed everyone.

_He can take Rory and start teaching him_, I tell myself, but the nervousness of no longer having any control over the food situation for my family haunts every part of me.

Is this what mothers feel, when there is no one to speak for their twelve year old? Utter helpless nerves? Is it more despairing?

What would have happened, if Prim had not been volunteered for?

I would have had to destroy everyone. Including myself, for her to return home. I don't know that I would have been able to protect her.

For the first time, I allow myself to be relieved that the baker's daughter volunteered. It's accompanied by the dread of knowing I will get to know her… and eventually, she will be killed.

I just hope it's by someone other than me.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So nice to see you all again… I'm sorry I haven't updated enough, and I know I haven't. I'm getting better, I had a serious case of Writer's Block, and RL is such a pain sometimes. Please continue to enjoy.**

**3**

Katniss Mellark

I almost screamed when Gale Hawthorne shook my hand.

The whole point of my volunteering was so that neither of those families had to suffer, and here he was: the blatant defiance of that idea.

The odds weren't in either of our favor.

After the anthem played, we were escorted away to the safety of separate rooms.

I'm in the Justice Building, waiting to be taken to the train station for transport to the Capitol. I'm nervous about everything—but mostly, the coming moments where our families are allowed in to see us.

I worry about the abuse my mother will spew forth, about how these moments are the moments I have left to say good-bye to those who are so important to me.

They burst in—my brothers before my parents, saying encouraging words of love and hope.

We all know it's a lie, and I won't be coming back despite what they say, but these are moments to treasure as I realize that they are loving me the best way they can. This is their apologies for teasing me all these years, and their way of asking me to forgive them for all of the times they had been cruel.

I make amends as well, because I will never see them again. Oddly enough, I am okay with that small fact.

"Compassion," my mother says quietly. Everyone is silent. "You have shown them you have compassion. You always have, and always will. Do not let them use it against you. District Twelve may finally have a Victor again. Watch out for him, Katniss; he's a survivor."

I wince, because that is my mother being kinder to me than most of the childhood I remember… and also warning me that I would not be the Victor of District Twelve that she referred to.

"We will not let the Hawthorne-or Everdeen-children starve," she says.

I gulp, and wonder if I am so transparent that my mother knows exactly why I did what I did today. Why I put myself up for the kill, instead of letting a twelve-year-old child just go.

She doesn't say anything else, and my father just hugs me for a long, long time. He and I have never really needed to say much to each other. We were comfortable being around each other without the necessity of mindless chatter.

That was a special something I had with my father.

I'm shaking when he finally lets go, and the Peacekeepers open the door.

"Time's up," one says gruffly.

My family gawks at one another. This is it. They're leaving me, and I will never see them again. My mother gives me a tight-lipped smile, and my father clears his throat to signal everyone to start moving.

They're disappearing before my eyes—out the door, out of my life. The thought makes me inhale sharply before I collapse on the velvet sofa behind me, half crying and half thinking about the luxury of this room alone.

I wrap my arms around myself protectively, and listen to the silence of my decision save for my own sniffling and unsteady breaths.

There's a soft knock at the door, and it opens abruptly. I look up to find Peeta Everdeen staring at me with his wide blue eyes.

He looks frightened for a moment, and then it's masked to be somewhat pleasant.

"Wrong room," he says quietly, and turns to leave. He pauses at the door.

"You saved my sister's life." He looks back over his shoulder, and I notice I've stopped crying. I've stood, and I'm gripping the arm of the couch.

I nod a little.

"Why?"

_This is it_, I think. _You have the chance to say—_

"I couldn't bear to watch her suffer, and know I could have done something," I say. My voice is much stronger than I feel.

His gaze is no longer coolly passive.

"Thank you," he says very quietly.

I look at the ground, flushing.

"Yes."

We stand there for a moment, and the longer he stares at me, the redder I become.

"May the odds be ever in your favor, Katniss Mellark." His voice is almost a whisper, and he pulls the door open harshly, leaving it that way as he exits. A Peacekeeper pulls it shut tightly, and my knees give out, tears welling up in my eyes again.

The door opens once more, and I try to stop them as Primrose Everdeen storms over to where I sit, and throws her arms around my neck.

"It'll be alright, Katniss," she says, clasping my face in her hands. "But you have to take care, too. You're so brave. Maybe you can win."

My heart sinks. I can't win, and the sentiment that I could strikes me as rather abrasive. There will be twenty-two other kids there—some that have been groomed to win since they were very young.

Girls twice my size that could kill me twenty ways with a knife.

"Maybe," I repeat emptily.

"Come home, Katniss," she begs of me. "You will try, won't you? Really, really try?"

Her eyes catch mine, and I wonder what it is that she knows that makes her react this way. Or if she's just maudlin because I volunteered for her.

"Swear it," she whispers, and I can't resist.

"Really, really try. I swear it."

It enters my mind that I have just sworn that I would try to actually win the Hunger Games with a renowned hunter in the other room to go up against… and even with all the experience Gale Hawthorne has had, we are a weak district for the Games.

We haven't had a Victor since Haymitch Abernathy when he was fourteen. That was nearly thirty years ago.

She nods, satisfied, and leaves as the Peacekeepers signal her time with me is up.

This has been the strangest day of my life, and I have the feeling that my life is about to end more abruptly than I would have cared for.

It's been a few hours, and they are finally moving us to the train to get started toward the Capitol. I wonder if that's how long it took to collect Haymitch from the Hob, a black market the Peacekeepers pretend not to know about.

It scares me that he is supposed to be our mentor, and how much alcohol he must consume to be so stinking drunk all of the time.

Effie is saying something about how special it is that we get to be here, if nothing but just for a little while, and there is a sadness to her voice that I both can and can't really understand.

She is a Capitolite. She has had an elite lifestyle all her years, and never wanted for anything at all… yet she has wanted to move up in her career, and been denied year after year. I understand that denial in a different way, but still cannot bring myself to think that Effie Trinket and I will ever be the same.

Her, with her poofy wigs and caked-on makeup, her obsession with trivial things that make me want to scream at the top of my lungs that none of this matters. It doesn't. I'm going to die, and I don't care one bit what is for supper.

She's looking at me, waiting for a response. In the most polite voice I can muster, I ask her "What did you say?"

She huffs for a moment, and yammers on some more. I can't bring myself to listen. It's like everything is muffled, and we're being shown to rooms. I still haven't looked at Gale Hawthorne since I was forced to shake his hand. I couldn't bear it.

He's the last person I wanted standing next to me today, and it really is killing me to think that his family—including Peeta, is one person short.

_We won't let them starve_.

My mother, who is angry and hurtful and mean all of the time… but when she says something like that, she means it. She will follow through.

Silently, I thank whoever may be listening for that small comfort.

I step into my room, and look around.

There is a bed, which looks fairly simple until I touch it. Lush fabric greets my hand as though it has been there for me, waiting all along. I press down on the bed, and it gives in response.

I wonder what sleeping here will be like, and I sit down for a moment. The bed is so soft I feel I may cry.

Suddenly, I am so very tired. It's as if the emotions of the day have worn me through and demand the closing of my eyes.

For once, I can oblige.

I let my hair down, pulling the pins carefully out of the spots my mother had put them in this morning, memorizing the feeling of it. Then I lay down on my side, praying that this is just a dream, and tomorrow I will wake up at the bakery being screamed at by my mother because I am obviously lazy and purposely trying to exhaust her by making her do everything.

_No wonder my brothers both moved out_, I think sardonically, and let my eyes shut, willing sleep to come.

)+(*)+(

_Running. _

_Just running. _

_There is no where to hide, no where to escape to as they're behind me, laughing and telling me to give up. I'm never going to win this anyway…_

"_Why did you volunteer?" someone asks behind me. I don't dare turn to tell them. I can't, because he or she is so close I can practically smell the earth radiating from him or her. I don't dare turn around._

"_Katniss! Wait! Why?"_

_Finally, I cannot run any longer and I am forced to face the person asking me this._

"_To volunteer because she deserved to live," I say bravely, and then there is a stab in my stomach, and I am on the ground._

_Dying._

_Just like I knew I would._

_**Please don't forget to review, and check out my original story named **_**Unbound **_**on fictionpress. Thank you!**_

_**tykiki**_


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